


Thaw of Winter's Chill

by orphan_account



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Smut, Everybody Lives, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Nobody is Dead, Roleplay, Roleplaying Character, Romance, Tattoo Thorin, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thriving realm of Erebor holds the wealth of the dwarves, and the pride of the great race, but with a scattered heart the King clamours for the hope to again be whole. Meanwhile, in the quaint simple life of the Shire, Bilbo reels with an unknown loneliness, soul longing for places far away, and heart longing for an individual farther still. An alternate universe, where Thorin is cleansed of the dragon-sickness, reclaims the throne of Erebor, and the heart of his hobbit. Their lives will pass from fire, lies and theft, to the honour and kinship of the dwarves, and the peace and prosperity of the halflings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

How was it that Thorin Oakenshield found himself standing in the middle of the Shire in the pouring rain, lost once again? Eyes squinted to stare at the map that he held in his hands (which was becoming tattered and rather pathetic because of how wet it was becoming), Thorin cursed himself for the hobbits confusing design taste. What happened to straight roads that did not wind around one another and veer off in different directions? 

He was visiting from the Kingdom of Erebor, a place that the very companion and former lover helped reclaim for the sake of the dwarves. Letters had been exchanged between the two, Thorin informing Bilbo that the Lonely Mountain was finally easing back into its prosperous state, and his young heir, Fili, had managed to fall into kingly responsibilities with ease. A meeting had been arranged, the King Under the Mountain to travel across the realm and to the Shire, where he would finally see the very being that his heart longed for.

Pained, Thorin was, to see Bilbo leave his side and return home to the Shire, but he did not blame him. He knew of what humble, comforting creatures the small race was, and that the walls of a mountain would do nothing but depress them. And at the time, Thorin had not exactly been himself. A sickness that had taken him over just as it did his grandfather seemed to ruin the newlly crowned King's insides, turning him cold and greedy. But through a series of events, the Battle of the Five Armies, nearly losing his own life as well as that of his nephew's, his hobbit leaving him to wallow in heartbreak, and a forged friendship with that of the Elvenking's son , whom recognized the fault of the Arkenstone and called upon the aid of Lord Elrond to cleanse the negative energy that was emitted from it, Thorin was back to his selfless ways.

And he did not come empty handed, as he had a few trinket items as a gift of love that he would give the hobbit whence they met again...if they ever met again...if Thorin ever found the comforting hobbit hole.

It was when a young hobbit approached him, asking if he needed any help (they recognized him as a royal heir to the throne of Erebor, having heard Bilbo's tales) that Thorin was finally pointed in the right direction. 

There was a sigh of relief as he walked up the ever familiar steps to Bag End, but the relief did not last too long as he realized he was an absolute wreck. The furs upon his shoulders were soaked, coat three times as heavy as when he had started this journey thanks to the rain, kingly attire of royal blues similar to the shade of black. And not to mention, his hair (which had grown considerably since their last meeting) was in such a state that it would not do. Bilbo had seen Thorin in his worst states during their quest together, but after such a long time of not seeing one another, he had to put his best foot forward, somehow...

That is why Thorin stood outside the round door of Bag End for at least another five minutes straightening the sopping wet clothes that he wore, and then reaching into his satchel to pull out a tie that he could easily wrap around his hair and pull it into a ponytail. The lush locks of hair were pulled back and up, tying the red ribbon into his hair to hold it tight. So long were the strands of the King's mane, that even in a semi-high ponytail the ends still reached to the middle of his back, stray braids falling down his shoulders.

Finally, he pushed through the nerves that had built up, raised his hand, and knocked on the familiar green door. Thorin inhaled deep, closing his eyes as if trying to hide himself from what he was about to face. What this visit would entail, he knew naught, but he knew for certain it would be difficult to smother the love and affection that he still held close in his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

The land of the Shire was filled with the very air of peace, drifting amongst the spring droplets of rain, and twining within the tall growing greenery that decorated every post, and every garden. A rebirth; a shake from winter’s chill that clung to the green and yellow doors and froze window hinges. Hobbiton, and Bilbo’s very own life returned to what it once was before a tall, blue, pointed hat had made it’s way through the Shire. So still, so calm, like a pond without fish or ducks or any disturbance.  
Had it not been what Bilbo had wished? Had Bag End not been what he desired in the cold nights when roots twisted his back, and foul smells had enveloped them all? Why then did everything of his life hang like a cobweb over the painting of his old world, of a world before pain and darkness?

Bilbo tapped his quill against the dotting rag, little droplets of thickening black ink splattering in familiar formations. Just how many nights had he sat in the silence of the home, and stirred without surge of thought? 

Staring down at the parchment, the halfling found himself in a staring match the off-white pages of his ‘book’, though it could hardly be called such now. The edges of the pages were yellowing with the smoke from pipeweed, and beneath the red leather cover laid a battle field of maps and letters. It seemed odd to Bilbo, how he found himself incapable of words of the past with the current monotonous drone of the present. Niavity had guided his emotions when walking back to the Shire, for he had thought he would return without qualm and a quaint life, a halfling’s life, would seem all the better now that he had lived an adventurous one. To pick up a quill rather than a sword-- but ever his hand trembled, and fingers curled wishing to grasp the hilt of his blade. 

Sighing, and tossing aside his feather, the halfling stood, feet stomping about, pacing their worn path from the study to the kitchen. The fire crackled, and his dinner bubbled, and his stomach churned. He only had a week, two at the most if the dwarf travelled slower in his age before his home would again take on a a visitor. His heart quivered at the thought, and his hand slipped back into his pocket, fingers rolling over the smooth edges of the gold he held so close to himself. A flurry of questions followed the hobbit’s mind as he thought of his friend; the lover of his past. Time had passed, but even five years could not erase the sight of Thorin winding about in chambers of gold, light flickering off of the gems and stones and twinning a malicious dance in the cool pools of his eyes. Five years could not ease the sting of his words, nor the weight of his chains… Nor the depth of his touch, the greed of his kiss. 

Just then, a loud snap sounded from his window, and for the briefest of seconds Bilbo clutched his hands about the ring. 

“Pst! Mister Bilbo!” Called an high voice from beneath his window sill. Walking over, unlatching, and pushing open the glass the hobbit found himself facing the cool pour of the rain and a small, smiling hobbit. 

“Mister Bilbo! You won’t believe what I just saw! You won’t guess, I just know you won’t!” 

The elder quirked his brow, and his hands pushed aside his dampening hair. “It’s raining out-- come to the other side, you can stay inside until--”

“No, Mister Bilbo! I can’t come to the door-- that’s the thing you see! A dwarf-- a large hairy dwarf is at your door messing about with his coats! Is he the one from your stories? Is he? He was lost and I sent him the long way round to your house!” Bilbo’s throat dried, and his tongue caught behind his teeth. He was early-- too early. The hobbit closed the window quickly after the briefest of ‘thank you’s’ and rushed about to the front of his house, ducking beneath the visible windows, and stealing a glance into the wet night. And in just a moment, the halfling’s heart swelled, and his fingers trembled against the wood of his door. 

Stooping down and racing to his bedroom, Bilbo tossed the dampened robe off, and shuffled his hair about, grasping his suspenders from his sides and throwing them over his shoulders. Tossing a glance to the side of the room, the hobbit caught his reflection in his vanity, candlelight catching on the ridges of his cheeks and shadowing the deepening lines of his face. They ran like rivers now, not merely streams in lines of laugher. Shaking his head with a brief, shaky laugh, the hobbit began tucking his shirt in when he heard the brief rap of the dwarf’s knuckles on his door. 

Sighing, at the state of him home the halfling’s preparations were cut short. Walking to the door, Bilbo paused for a moment, hand grasping the door, and with a surge of Tookishness, he swung the door open, air escaping his chest in that moment. 

And in that moment, he swore that all the butterflies of Mirkwood had found their way into his stomach and were flying about. 

“Thorin,” The name pressed against his lips softly as they curled into a trembling smile. “I-I.. You must come in,” Bilbo stepped to the side, his eyes falling off of the dampened King and to the floor. “Terrible weather we’re having-- truly awful.” The words left his mouth in a nervous storm, and his eyes again laced back up, winding past the furs and leathers, to the tucked back hair of the dwarf. Silver had aged it, adding nothing but magnificence, and the short beard, the beard he could still feel between his fingers, had grown considerably. Roses blossomed in the halfling’s cheeks as he pushed the door closed behind the door, the whipping wind silenced giving rise  
to only the creaks and groans of the hobbit hole. 

“You travel slower than I thought-- I expected you but a week ago.” Had it only been true, preparation had evaded Bilbo, but his heart was ever prepared for the moment at hand; truly, it had wished for it for many moons. 

“You look well, my friend.”


	3. Chapter 3

And it felt like he was waiting five more years for Bilbo to answer the door. The dwarf reached up, fingertips grazing over the beard that he had grown to ensure that it was halfway presentable. After all, a dwarf's hair and beard were the two most important things to them. He fiddled with the rather large, decorative ear-cuffs that he wore, each encrusted with their own assortment of small gems and metals, thin chains hanging from them and draping around the curve of the King's ear. His mortal heart pounded against his chest, blue eyes focused down unto the door knob that was in the center of the circular barrier that stood between he and Bilbo. He realized he had come quicker than he originally intended, and that he was probably taking the halfling off guard, but what other way would he have it? It was similar to their first meeting before the quest. 

Lost in his own thoughts, Thorin almost didn't realize that the door had swung open. But once he noticed the light and familiar furry feet filling his line of sight, he brought his gaze immediately up. Graced with the sight of the love that his heart had never let go of, the King gave a gentle smile, the fine lines beside his eyes crinkling into an expression of utmost happiness. Bilbo had certainly gained his weight back, and for that he was happy to see. His face adorned with deeper lines, but still one of the most pleasurable sights he'd ever had the pleasure of looking at. He parted his lips, searching for the words that he longed to say, but nothing came to. Bilbo was the first to speak, greeting him with the utterance of his name.

And oh, it sounded just like home. Those two syllables spoken from soft lips that he'd ravished years ago. He hadn't forgotten what it sounded like in their most passionate moments, either.

The thought made his heart skip. 

Overwhelmed with emotion, Thorin could say nothing as he was ordered inside by the hobbit, and he was quite thankful for the invitation. He was soaked from head to toe, long locks, furs, and textiles dripping onto the wooden floor beneath his feet. Oh, this must have been irking the hobbit, for he knew how clean he was. But finally, he managed to speak, "Bilbo, thank you for having me. I thought I would never find this place. I stood in the rain for what seemed a half hour looking for Bag End. A wee hobbit lad helped me find my way." Always lost, typical Thorin. 

Standing here absolutely drenched, Thorin could only stare with a smile that showed his perfectly straight and white teeth to his love. It mattered not how wet he was. He was frozen with happiness and disbelief that he was finally standing here. But the smile dropped when Bilbo commented that he had traveled slow. 

"My apologies, my hobbit, I tried to travel quicker than during our last adventure, and I was under the impression I would be arriving early..." Filled with genuine concern his voice was, but he quickly brushed the matter aside as his undying need to reach out and embrace Bilbo reached its utmost high. But he wouldn't, not until he had dried off. He'd waited so long, a few more moments would not hurt...would it?

"Ah, you flatter me," he responded, that smile coming across his lips once again, "I am hardly as well as I could be. I should have been more presentable for this special occasion, but as you can see, my poor sense of direction mixed with the atrocious weather does not permit for one to look majestic." Beginning to remove the coat and furs that adorned his shoulders, Thorin hung them on a nearby rack until he could place the clothing in front of a fire to be dried quicker. Near his coat, he hung his satchel, inside which had various gifts for the former thief. 

"And I've all but ruined your floor with this rain," he commented, Thorin finally manage to break his gaze from the hobbit's to stand on one foot and pull one large boot off of his right foot, then his left. Small designs decorated the king's feet, dwarven runes and patterns extending up toward his ankle. Leaving the boots near the door, he stood now in his linen pants, and a would-be regal tunic. Arms held out to his sides, it would have looked like he was expecting an embrace should he not have been so wet. "I suppose I should remove all of this before I continue any further into your cozy home." A soft laugh fell from his lips, Thorin giving a gracious bow of the head toward the hobbit, just before untying the top of his tunic and slipping the sopping wet thing over his head.

Beneath the tunic lay the same muscular structure that he'd worn during their last encounter. Still as sturdy as an oak tree, Thorin's tattooed chest, biceps, and back were now exposed to the halfling. Intricate dwarven designs were scrawled across his battle-worn skin, scars extending down his abdomen, across his shoulders, and forearms. Some peeked in between the tattoos. Some scars were more fresh than others, others faded with decades of aging. The most notable was one near his ribs, just across his stomach. It was a near-fatal wound from the Battle of the Five Armies. This exposition caused the dwarf to shiver if only for the fact that he was quite cold. Dwarves thought naught of being in the nude, and the hobbit if anyone would know all too well how comfortable it was for Thorin to be in the least amount of clothing possible. But he'd spare the pants, just for now.

Ponytail splayed down his spine and some of the stray hairs falling across his shoulders, sticking to his pectorals along with beaded braids, Thorin glanced up with a genuine smile. It was not the most graceful entrance that a king could have. But despite that, his heart was swelling and he only wanted to embrace Bilbo. And so he did.

Taking one large step forward, Thorin wrapped his strong arms around the halflings smaller frame, holding him tight to his exposed chest. His hands moved slowly up the expanse of Bilbo's back, fingers spread wide as to cover as much territory as possible and ensure that yes, this was the one he'd deemed as his soul-mate those years ago. Head leaning forward, Thorin rested his chin against Bilbo's shoulder. He was careful not to press his lower half too much against the hobbit, as his pants were still utterly drenched, but he still squeezed his torso tight against his own. Heartbeats against one another, lungs causing rib cages to expand and meet. He inhaled. The familiar scent brought a rush of memories. 

Skin against skin. Hot breath clashing. Husky groans. The scent of lavender, steel, and pipeweed.

/I wish for only you, âzyungâl./

"Bilbo," he spoke soft, dropping all formalities that he once had used in their time of knowing one another, "I am so pleased to be standing with you once again. It has been far too long."


	4. Chapter 4

Life it seemed in that moment was a silent firework, soaring into the sky and exploding with colours. Memories washed over the hobbit, and his cheeks rose with an untamable smile. It was the sort of smile that could not be stopped by wishing, for the entirety of your body was happy. The frustration of his simple life drowned with the dwarf’s arrival, any and all Tookishness in him startling awake with the clatter of his ornaments. The halfling again craved the sight of the world unfolding about him; to feel small in the mountain’s embrace. 

And there he stood, silently watching the fluidity of the dwarf, breath catching in his throat as he again felt the uncommon, unforgettable swells of fondness taking hold of his breast. Catching his hands afront his body, the halfling twined the stubby appendages, thumbs twirling,  
nervously catching on his widening waist band. Nothing about the dwarf, not the voice, not the clothing or jewels, nor even the body that had changed slightly seemed different. Despite not seeing a handful of the scars or tattoos, they seemed familiar like glimpses from a foggy dream, for how could anything about his love seem foriegn?

His love… Messing his lips together with sudden realization, Bilbo saw his emotions fully in light, and the frustrating nights of solitude, the lonely crackling of a fire, and the creaks of an empty house called the halfling to the dwarf. Even after five years, years of festering pain, the halfling felt with startling, abrupt, and unapologetic force the love he had repressed, if only to spare his mind. If only to live without his King. For truly, five years felt like the plight of a lifetime in the strange familiarity of Bag End. For could anything be called a home without the dwarf?

Words passed dizzily, the only syllables hitting their mark being the comment of the flooring. Part of him wished to stamp his feet, damn the floor, and hold the dwarf, but he found himself paralyzed, and instead the Baggins won. 

“It’s just a floor, Thorin.” Bilbo said with a smile, a smile indicative of his change. No longer was he a fretting creature of sentiment and past, the halfling lived for the present. He lived for these moments, and the moments he would capture and steal in the days when the dwarf came again the hobbit hole beneath The Hill. It was odd however, in his jubilations and swells of happiness came a creeping doubt, like the briefest winds of winter catching in the spring sun. In this time, for much time had passed and much had been done, did the dwarf still hold him in the cusps of care? In the tender embrace of love?

Had the desire and passion of that night been all but the dragon sickness? Had the ailment affected his mind to such an extent that he desired both gold and flesh?

But still he stood, familiar and foreign all at once, like the first glimpse in a mirror after a haircut. His eyes had changed, the harsh steel he had seen, catching on gem and coin had softened into a reflecting pool, beautiful and brilliant. Much had changed in and about the dwarf, and Bilbo cursed himself for not being there, for not staying. 

Had he chose to stay would he have been welcomed? Would he have grown to love the mountain like the Shire? Somewhere amidst the cascading and treacherous rock, and the frightening tinging of miners in the deep could he have found peace? The look on the dwarf, the care in his eyes, and the smile-- the smile that seemed like the rarest of gems gave affirmation to the hobbit. Any place would suit him, even the dank and musty confines of the  
mountain realm. 

Staring at the dwarf, eyes fluttering over the new intricate designs that laced through the contours of his body, memories rushed back. Memories of stolen touches, and greedy fingers. Hastily they had ran the course of the other’s body, holding, pulling, and grasping with unknown strength in the need of the moment. A promise had been made that night, forgotten for but a time in the hurricane of movements and hushed words, a promise to speak of each scar, each line of ink. Bilbo could still feel the dwarf’s scars beneath his fingers, the sunken curve of torn flesh, with only time as medicine. For five years, memories of that night had been cast aside, lingering in the shadows, and curling out as night crept in, evading the sun and hunting the halfling as he sunk into a much too soft bed. Curled into much too warm blankets. Living in a much too lonesome house.

Edging forward, the halfling’s toes curled into the rainwater that began to pool between the dovetailed joints of the wooden floor. All his body wished itself forward, to pitch to the dwarf and drag him close, lips messed, fingers curled into one another. 

“You.. You, um-- You look cold, let me grab you--” Bilbo knew not if the words left his mouth at all, for it seemed as soon as he found the courage to speak, he was wrapped in the dwarf’s arms, sinking into a bed that seemed just right. Huddled in a blanket that seemed just warm enough. Living in a home, filled with joy and love. 

It had not been the first time the halfling had been shocked with a grasp of affection from the dwarf, but this time, he moved, curling himself into the dwarf’s touch, his arms wrapping about Thorin and pulling him as close as he dared. His hands curled about the ponytail to hold the back of his King, anchoring to him, daring not to release. The halfling closed his eyes, nose filling with the musk of travels, a scent he had been wrapped in, warmed by tattered furs in the most disturbing of places. Soft, silent chuckles escaped the halfling’s parted lips, brushing past the loose strands of the dwarf’s hair as emotion welled in not only his chest, but his eyes. The joy… The joy seemed to Bilbo unlike anything else, incomparable to anything he had ever felt. Fear, held nothing to joy. 

Grip on the dwarf loosening, despite all mental shouting against it, the halfling pulled back. A smile large as the crescent moon mirroring back at the pearled teeth of the dwarf. 

“To merely agree would be an insult to the joy your arrival brings. I… I must admit I have missed you something terrible.” A sniffle pulled from the hobbit’s nose, and his hands still resting against the dwarf’s shoulder, fighting whether to again pull him into a hug, or whether to release. Glassy eyes blinked back tears as Bilbo released his grasp on the dwarf, feet only now aware of the puddle they stood in.


	5. Chapter 5

Perhaps Bilbo had changed more than Thorin had originally thought. He brushed the fact that he had come in and drenched his floor with mud and rainwater as that it was “just a floor”, when the King blatantly recalled Fili and Kili complaining about how uptight Bilbo had been about his floor, rugs, carpet, dishes, and doilies. Thorin wasn’t even sure if he knew what a doily was. Never had he expected the stubborn hobbit that he had originally met in the Shire the night before their quest’s departure to change. He had underestimated him, and now he loved him more than anything in the whole realm. Should someone have told him that he would love their burglar so much one day, he would have merely laughed.  
Lost in the comforting embrace, Thorin tilted his head slightly to bury his nose in the sandy brown locks of hair that had the scent of his hobbit heavy upon them. Pipeweed, warm food, and of course Bilbo’s own scent filled his nose, making his heart pound harder if at all that was possible. The Halfling was more plump in his arms than the last time he remembered embracing him, but it was somewhat adorable, and of course it made him happy to know that Bilbo had settled happily back into Bag End. He found himself wondering if their feelings were still mutual, as his own sentiments had only grown stronger over the past five years. Absence made the heart grow fonder, and that was definitely true in the King’s case.  
The feeling of familiar hands holding him close brought him back home. This was where he should be, wrapped in Bilbo’s arms. Their bodies pressed together, breathing and heartbeats in sync. It had taken him so long to come back to Bilbo mainly because of his own darkness and nightmares that tore at his insides and made him an utter monster. Finally, he was in the state to come to Bilbo, and he had plans larger than just a leisure visit. The reminder of the courtship beads in his satchel suddenly made him all the more nervous, but before he thought of presenting them and explaining himself, he had to ensure that they still felt the same.  
He wanted nothing more than to pull back from that hug, press his lips against Bilbo’s in a passionate kiss, then push him against the wall and show him just how badly he had been missed, but for now, words would have to suffice.   
The grip on him loosened, Thorin pulling back with his hands sliding about the hobbits back to rest on his shoulders, his eyes filled with pure bliss. It was a look that had been a foreign one during their previous time together. Grin widening, the King listened to the words that his companion spoke. So he had missed him as well.  
“I have missed you something fierce as well, Bilbo. I am happy to finally be in your company again, and I hope that we will never go this long without one another…Fili, he has really taken to the throne, and the kingdom is flourishing… Visits like this will become more frequent, if everything goes as planned,” he chattered, stopping only when he noticed the glassy expression that came across Bilbo’s face. It was heartwarming, touching that Bilbo would be almost moved to tears because of him, and Thorin could not help but reach forward and caress beneath the Halfling’s eyes with his thumb.   
“My hobbit, we have no time for tears… do not cry for me. I am very much here, and this moment is quite real.”  
The words were also spoken to make himself try to believe them. The fact that this was actually happening was something that remained difficult to comprehend. Fingertips slid down the side of Bilbo’s cheek, hand cupping the side of his face as it slid down to his chin, then caressed down the length of the hobbit’s neck. He kept his hand there, grin fading into more of a sincere smile, eyes still locked on his companion’s. He could stand there all night if he did not try to push this visit along. Thorin inhaled deeply, taking a step forward to once again close the gap between them, this time leaning in to place a soft kiss upon Bilbo’s cheek. His lips lingered there, hand still placed on the pulse of his neck.   
But he did not speak a word of the meaning. It could be taken as a token of his love, mere companionship, or a love that was unique to those that he had deemed family, as he had exchanged this motion between he and his nephews in front of the hobbit before.   
“I am so pleased to be here, and we have much to catch up on. Letters simply do not express well enough all that has happened since last we met.”  
Pulling away once more, Thorin managed to look away from the eyes of his former lover and glanced down at his bare torso instead. “Let us hope that you have no peeping Toms, my friend, as they have gotten an eye-full of a dwarf tonight,” he joked, his attempt at being light-hearted and casual. “I would not imagine that you have clothing or a robe that would be suited to fit me, would you?” The mere thought of wearing a hobbits clothes made Thorin laugh, shaking his head softly as he brought the long ponytail from around his back and over his shoulder to gently squeeze the dark locks, wringing the rest of the water that hung on it into the puddle that he and Bilbo already stood in.  
Dwarves were accustomed to the cold, but for some reason, this exposure made him shiver. Perhaps Bilbo’s presence had something to do with it. He would dare not step further in, not until he had removed the last bit of clothing that he wore and was suited with something else.   
“Naught has changed since my last visit here,” he observed, fingertips trailing down to the ties that held his pants around his waist. He tugged at the strings and held the piece of clothing up around his waist with his own hands until Bilbo suited him with something more appropriate. “I am relieved to see it, too, as I have been looking forward to your warm fires and food.”   
And I have been looking forward to seeing your stunning face, touching your skin, ravishing your lips, making you my own…  
Ah, a dwarf could certainly dream.


	6. Chapter 6

The words hung like dew clinging to morning flowers. It held to his ears, and the smile that grew across his face pushed the tears further to the surface. “No, Thorin… You do not understand, I… I’m glad to see you so well, so…” Bilbo shook his head, a chuckle breaking through his nostrils as he tilted his head to the side bashfully, only to return to hold the gaze. 

“Kingly.” The words left parted lips, his jaw hanging in the air for a brief moment before he caught himself and clamped it shut. The dwarf’s actions surprised the hobbit, for a large, softened hand found his cheek and held it gently. The cool touch eased the blush in his cheeks, and his smile lifted more, cheeks filled with bliss laying perfectly in the rounded cup of the dwarf’s hand. Tears swept away by the velvet caresse of the King, the halfling felt his heart begin to hammer, and his hands grow anxious for the feel of the dwarf’s skin. As the fingers trailed down along the curve of his face, tapering to the curl of his neck, toes inched forward, teetering closer to the creature of Bilbo’s heart. An inescapable surge of memories passed between what distance laid between them, floating between the air like lingering ghosts. 

Did these ghosts play cruel tricks on the present? Did he dwell too deeply into the gaze, the touches?

Reaching forward, plump fingers found their way to the dwarf’s hand, ghosting over his knuckles. Truthfully, they could have felt like brief touches of accident, but the twirl of his fingers, floating between the contours of the hand spoke so much where words failed. Emotions passed without words, and even in their letters it seemed the very spaces between words held meaning. Their love dwelled where words dare not intrude. 

Blood hammering against Thorin’s fingers, the halfling closed his eyes for but a moment, and with the next feeling he thought they may never open again. The breath left his lungs and Bilbo felt fear that the beat of his heart may cause harm to the dwarf’s fingers, for it pressed on with such force and speed the world seemed a dizzying painting. A mural of affections, candlelight and furs. The press of the Arkenstone to his chest as he slept. The weight of his feet as he crept from the King’s chambers under the haunting guise of night. 

Had the King held still for but a moment longer, the hobbit’s finger would have tangled in the long braided beard and tugged the lips to his own. The fever of his cheeks knew nothing to the fever of his lips, or the anxious chill of his skin. 

Eyes allowed the flood of light to return as the close scent of leather, ale and pipeweed diminished. And the sudden bareness of the dwarf was  
made apparent, and Bilbo could not help but think of the small hobbit child, more than likely, still lingering about his house. 

A nervous chuckle passed through gritted teeth. “Ah, yes-- the Shire certainly would be buzzing with chatter tomorrow!” 

Pulling back from the bare chest, Bilbo’s eyes ran over outline of the dwarf, examining every curve and contour before stammering back to the world of reality. 

“I may be able to fit you into some of my father’s old clothes. They may be a little short, but you seem to share his width.”

Leaning down, eyes finally breaking from the dwarf, Bilbo grasped up the dampened garments, shaking any excess water off before shuffling over to the fireplace, and hanging the tunic, jacket, and heavy boots near it’s warmth. 

Then, he travelled back near Thorin, going a little past him to reach a large spare wardrobe in the hall. As the wooden doors swung open, the scent of age rolled out into the room and the halfling began searching through the mess of clothes stored in it’s aged walls. It took a few tries, of pulling clothes out, Bilbo holding them for analysis, and then tossed back in before a few items were found. A set of trousers sized for a rather wide hobbit, and a very loose cream coloured tunic with a set of ties down the center. Beyond that, Bilbo found a robe, rimmed with rabbit fur, and of a wine colour. He remembered his father had boarded it up, treasuring it’s fine crafting, but never daring to wear it. 

How silly it was, Bilbo thought, though he knew that before his travels he was very much the same way. Delving into sentimental things, ignoring the sentiment of words, or friendship. He had been lonely, though he hardly knew it at the time. 

Turning round, shoulder lifting and adjusting his suspended to its proper place, the hobbit walked the clothing over to the King. “They are less than kingly, but I should hope they are warm.” Bilbo said in a voice barely above a whisper. 

Passing along the clothing, the halfling’s eyes held onto the dwarf’s for but a moment before dashing away, back turning to face the kitchen. Waddling off, the hobbit stirred the soup halfheartedly. His true intentions and thoughts resided fifteen paces back, in the arms of the dwarf. The kiss still lingered on his cheek, and though the nature of the touch was of innocence, the proximity of the dwarf, chests held together… Bilbo felt more than just a chaste kiss. 

Dragon fire, rimmed his lips as they rolled against one another, and his fingers grasped at their partners, all while the hobbit attempted to calm himself. Surely the dwarf wasn’t this anxious? 

“I should imagine, after all that rain! I will fetch you a blanket-- you’re still cold I imagine!” Bilbo shouted back, turning around, facing the dwarf, eyes whisking about desperately, darting everywhere but the King. 

Or rather, they would have had they not laid on the dressing dwarf. They lingered, watching the King dress, arms twisting back into the robe. 

“H-here… Let me help you,” Bilbo whispered, walking over slowly to his love, grasping the fur edge of the wine robe, on either side of the dwarf’s back, and easing it over his shoulders, hands resting on the broad shoulders for a moment. His fingers splayed as they once had, curling and feeling the muscles beneath his fingers flex in response. 

“I do hope they fit alright,” The halfling whispered lazily, as he removed one hand, the other dragging across the back of the dwarf until it rested on the opposite shoulder, Bilbo standing at his side. 

“They suit you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Kingly, he certainly was. It was a stark contrast from the last time Bilbo had saw him. Regal he was then, but hardly suited for being a respectable king. His mind had been overcome by sickness that made him mistreat even his closest loved ones, Bilbo included. He would elaborate on it more later, but for now, he focused on the less-deep aspects of the comment.

"Yes, I suppose growing one's hair into a long mane and also having a braided beard would make them look more suited to be king, would they not?" Not to mention, he still had that jewelery hanging from his ears... "I wish I could have looked more presentable for you, my friend, but for now this will have to do." Not that he had a problem with wearing less clothes. It was much more freeing, and though he wouldn't admit it, he was secretly searching for a reaction in the expressions and tone of Bilbo's voice from seeing his flesh exposed once again.

And before Thorin knew it, Bilbo was offering to suit him in some of his father's old clothes. It must have been incredibly sentimental to even think about pulling those items out of their storage spaces, especially since before he seemed so attached to his inanimate objects. 

"Thank you, Bilbo, I would be much appreciative. This is even quite cold for a dwarf, I will admit." 

Standing with his arms folded to his chest to try to spread some of his body heat, chills ran up the dwarf's lower back and all the way to his shoulder blades, trailing up the tattoos that decorated his spine. He watched closely as Bilbo started tending to the soaked garments that he had hung up and would no doubt be changing into again the next day should the attire of the hobbit's father be too short for him. 

Droplets of water fell from the King's hair, both down his chest and down his back, leaving small shivers in their wake until Bilbo returned with a pile of clothing that seemed to be quite warm. Incredibly warm compared to what he currently wore. 

"I give you my gratitude, my hobbit. They need not be kingly in the slightest. I have stepped away from my throne for this visit, and I must admit it is quite a relief." 

Taking the clothing, Thorin placed it on the nearby bench in the doorway, and backed far enough away from the window (just in case there /were/ peeping hobbits) that one could not see him undress from the outside. Thick fingers continued to pull apart the strings that held his pants up around his waist, then he pushed them down his legs, which had accumulated quite a bit of new designs. Previously his legs, ankles, and feet had been bare of dwarven ink, but now it extended from his toes, wrapping around his ankles, and had runes and patterns scattered across muscular tone, of which included a band wrapped around his left thigh.

He didn't stand in the nude for long, though it was very much a relief to finally be completely out of the constricting, clinging clothes. First his pants were put on, fitting his waist quite nicely and only drawing an inch or so short on his ankles. The tunic remained loose on his figure, tying it up halfway so that some of the skin and hair of his chest was slightly visible. As Thorin had remarked before, he did not like to be confined to tight clothing. 

And the next was the wine colored robe that was trimmed with soft gray rabbit fur, which would certainly cause him to warm up quickly. Sliding one of his arms into the sleeve, he struggled to get the opposite side on until...

"Let me help you."

The voice was soft and comforting, and having Bilbo help him into his clothes seemed /right/. He lifted his opposite arm, pushing it into the sleeve with Bilbo's help, then closed his eyes briefly at the touch of splayed fingers across broad shoulders. He inhaled, muscles relaxing against the touch, savoring just the small touches that could have easily been written off as a friendly gesture, Thorin hoping, praying to Mahal that it was so much more than that.

But when Bilbo came round to his side, he turned to face him completely, Thorin holding his arms out in a way to faux-model for the hobbit. A smile came across his face, followed by a soft chuckle. 

"Do you think so? I was hoping I would do your father honor by wearing his clothes. I would hate to make them look appalling. I must admit, they are quite cozy, very warm. And the fur, it's a nice touch." Reaching behind him, Thorin pulled bits of his mane of hair that had gotten stuck beneath the robe out, adjusting the long ponytail and braids to rest over one shoulder, salt and pepper strands cascading over the rabbit fur like waterfalls. Blue eyes focused on Bilbo's contrasting hues, tongue dragging over his own lip to wet his mouth that suddenly had become very dry. "You know what I like, my friend," he commented, his voice just as soft as the halfing's.

The way they spoke to one another, their hushed tones, whispering softly, endearing in a sense of the word, held volumes of passion that neither of them dared to acknowledge Not yet. 

Reaching out, he placed his hand on Bilbo's shoulder again, giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks. His eyes were soft, lips curved up into a genuine expression of happiness. 

"Were you in the middle of preparing a meal?" he questioned, glancing over the hobbit's shoulder and into the kitchen, "I could not help but notice the stirring of what I assumed to be soup...do not let me keep you from it, we can catch up while you cook your dinner." He wouldn't assume part of that soup was for him, of course, after he'd shown up on such short notice, though it would have been rather nice if he was offered... After all, his stomach /was/ growling audibly. 

"I am sure you have many questions to ask, do you not?"

And once he was finished speaking, Thorin could not help but trail his hand up from Bilbo's shoulder to rest upon his neck once more. He kept it there, thumb stroking against his jawline affectionately. 

"Oh, how I have missed this face."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (In which Bilbo gets a little riled up.)

“It is not hair that makes one a King, Thorin.” Bilbo whispered simply through smiling lips, dimples rounding out his cheeks. Truly he could have said more, spoken into how he had always been a King to the hobbit, and how doubt, had only seeped in when sickness poured through. He wished to say how, in the many times he may have doubted himself, the faith of his hobbit had never faltered. None of the gold, or gem in the mountain could turn the hobbit to a King, but even the poorest of clothes and a crown made of dirt, and still Erebor’s crowned son would have been a King. 

Though what was true, was that the garb suited him. Despite the fall of the trousers, and the loosened blouse, it was all held together in what seemed to only look right. The robe, pulled about his muscular arms, falling short of his knees. Bilbo would be lying if he said he did not let out the briefest puff of a sigh as the wine coloured fabric clung to him like molded leather. Little darkened runes rose above the cut of the tunic, curling about in strange ways that jostled the halfling’s heart. He had seen them, felt the barely raised skin beneath his fingers when the skin of the King was washed and oiled and he dirty. He had seen the runes curl about like serpents as Thorin’s muscles flexed, as his own fingers dug into the skin, pulling it closer to his. He had craved that skin, those markings, and many a night they had haunted his dreams until restlessness awoke him, and he stare at the ceiling; waterfall of memories cascading over him. 

And strange thoughts had edged their way into his mind in the long waking hours of the night, as the world fell into a silent rhythm. As he hoped that somewhere, his half longed to be whole. He longed to be the dwarf’s, and for the dwarf to be his, in every sense of being whole. 

“My father would be startled to see a dwarf in his home,” Bilbo muttered with a chuckle, his hand raising to push aside a mess of hair on his brow. “And to see his son in such a state of emotion.” The final words left with a softness of much more than friendship, and with meaning far greater than lovers.

The hobbit’s gaze dared not break from the dwarf’s as their chests once more faced each other, eyes dancing with unknown dazzle. He thought for a moment to ask about the jagged scar sprawled beneath his breast, tearing near his abdomen, for the line still ran in hot flames across his mind. He knew though, the cause of the scar, for he had seen and handled the blade. And truly, he had sobbed silently, back to the canvas tent the dwarven King rested in, unconscious due to the wound. Guilt swam in his chest like tadpoles through still waters, and his tears… He had left before the next morn, after a parting goodbye to the line of Durin, his heart lay bear in the hands of the healing dwarf in the words of a letter. A farewell. 

And should our ways again never cross, know that I loved you. And that my intentions were not cut of the same clothe of traitors, but lovers. 

A surging chill ran across the hobbit’s body, fingers trembling and blood electrified. For there he stood, brow aged but only a single day, and the time in his hair sparkling. And even as his meal was mentioned, and his stomach growled with hunger, his body grew a hunger that dared to make his heart both race, and stop. 

“Oh… Oh, yes, my supper.” He managed in a hoarse voice, head shaking a bit, and eyes blinking away from Thorin’s. “It’s nothing much-- soup of potato and ham, but it is warm and there is plenty enough.” 

But in that moment, the dwarf again held him, cradling his neck in hands far softer than he remembered. Eyes fluttered to a close, his hands clenched and loosened as he found himself leaning back into the touch, finding in it more comfort than a thousand nights of sleep. Taking his bottom lip to his teeth, pulse driving at a maddening rate, Bilbo’s hand reached out, holding still to the gentle touch, deepening it with the passion of his own palm. 

“You must think me ill,” The halfling managed, opening his eyes to catch the sight of the dwarf. His free hand reached out, pressing to the center of Thorin’s breast, fingers curling slightly. He had had enough of not knowing. He had had enough of waiting. 

Five years, 

“For my heart races like a dying man, my hands tremble, and my face flushes like a drunkard.”

Far over a thousand nights his back curled back in agony and his hands grasped madly at his flesh. Words he talked to himself, bidding his heart to stop caring, to stop loving. 

All for this. 

“I have waited, and longed, and dreamed of now, and now I find a fear in my heart-- nerves thrashing at my bones.” Bilbo drug his hand downward, catching in the softened linen and pulling himself closer. His hand then released, and a sigh drowned from his nose. His fingers reached up, wrapping the strands of hair about his chubby fingers. 

“But I will forever cast aside the Baggins, for I grow tired of this life.” With a final surge of bravery, the hobbit pulled on the hair, only long enough for his other hand to grasp the hairy cheek and pull it downwards to his level. His lips clashed against the dwarf’s with an entirely foreign force, and his lips parted, as did his heart in that moment. He pulled with unknown strength, the dwarf to his chest, and his toes pressed upwards. His hand twisted upwards into the mess of hair, and held him as close as he dared. 

And his heart made way for the thawing of winter’s chill. 

Tearing away, heart shuddering and breath lingering between their lips, Bilbo’s eyes made a whisper of an opening, but his hands made no sign of release.  
“I grow tired of being alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please remember to comment and share your thoughts, for both myself and Thorin enjoy reading them!)


	9. Chapter 9

And if the way Bilbo reached out and touched his chest did not tell Thorin exactly the way he felt, the words that fell from the hobbit's lips did. He kept his hand resting on his neck, thumb continually stroking across that jawline, blue eyes focused on his lover's as he spoke of what exactly what was on his mind. So the feelings were still mutual. He had such a way with words, and he could easily say that he felt the same, he just had an easier time hiding his frustrations.

Surprisingly, he was dragged forward by a hand that had made its way down the exposed skin that peeked from beneath the linen tunic, and he felt a soft smile coming across his features. Thorin had expected he would be the one to initiate the expression of his feelings, as the hobbit was typically the more reserved out of the two of them. The fingertips against his skin left chill bumps in their wake, Thorin's lips slightly parted as he gazed down at the other male with a look similar to lust. He said nothing, he only listened to the words intently, feeling that his insides were soon to burst with the amount of passion that had long been buried inside him.

This rather brave side that Bilbo was showing was one that the King had not experienced when it came to their more intimate relations, so when his hair was wrapped around digits and he was pulled in, it took him by surprise...

Not that he would complain. He'd never complain. Especially since the tug ended up in a hand that was wrapped in his beard and their lips met for the first time in five long years. It was not awkward, it took no time for Thorin to fall into it, as the hand that was placed on Bilbo's neck slid up through shaggy locks of sandy-brown hair, pulling him in deeper as his opposite hand found itself resting on the hobbit's thickened waist, sliding about to his lower back to pull his body in closer so that they were pressed against one another.

Thorin's lips moved smooth, sensual, the tip of his tongue pushing through their open-mouthed kiss to gently graze across the lips that were opposite to his own. He inhaled deep through his nose, preparing to not pull away for as long as he could muster, but their lips were torn by the hobbit himself, the breathing that was exchanged between them hot. 

"You should know that these feelings are quite mutual, my hobbit. Long have I desired to see you, to touch you, to kiss you, to love you like I once did. I wish to give you all that I am capable of, to show you that my feelings have never once faded," he finally whispered, his eyes half-lidded as he tugged gently at the locks of hair that his fingers were intertwined with. "I am so relieved to hear that we share the same sentiments...I would be lost without your love."

And the King could say no more, for before Bilbo could even respond, Thorin was closing the gap between them, his fingertips pressing in deep to the lower back of his halfling, holding him close to his body as he explored the lips he'd long been missing. It was open-mouthed yet again, this time more desperate as if he would never be able to taste it after this. He suckled upon Bilbo's lower lip, sliding his hand down from the hobbit's hair, past his neck, across his chest, and then finally finding the edge of his tunic in which he wore. Sliding beneath it, fingernails scratched affectionately at the skin beneath the fabric, the skin that he had once claimed as his own. 

He pulled away from Bilbo's lips, dragging his teeth along it as he tore away, then he began to place kisses from the edge of his mouth, across his jawline, and down to his neck. Thorin's hand pulled them tight together, their bodies pressed together in such a way that complimented one another nicely. His tongue slid down the length of Bilbo's neck, savoring the taste of his skin, and he began to nibble, incisors tugging at the flesh. It was as if they had never been apart, Thorin falling into a rhythm that expressed his love and desires in the most affectionate way.

His insides burned with desire, his heart pounding against his chest, his body urging him on. Thorin kissed his way up to the halfling's ear, pressing his lips against the shell in a way that he had before. He knew this was a spot that would easily make Bilbo turn into putty in his hands.

"My love, azyungal, I have missed you so. Long have I dreamt of this moment. I would lay awake in my bed and think of you and how it felt to have your body against mine, to have you beside me," he whispered, trailing kisses up the length of the pointed ear, "You are more precious to me than anything in the world. Let me show you."

Well, he was going to wait to be this passionate, but Thorin was terrible with words, and in his opinion, the best way to show his affection toward another was to be utterly physical. Bilbo had initiated it, he couldn't be blamed. 

Sucking at the lobe of his ear, Thorin slowly began to push Bilbo in the direction that he believed the bedroom to be. All was forgotten except for he and his lover. Even the soup that still was on the stove in the kitchen. Stepping forward, he guided Bilbo to walk backwards.

"Please."


	10. Chapter 10

Bilbo caught himself on the air of the dwarf’s heated breath, mind reeling with the spinning sensation of his kiss. His eyes remained closed for a few moments as Thorin spoke, his fingers never pulling from his beard or mane. He held tight, his shoulder drooping, and eyes lazily opening to catch on the gleam of the King’s eyes. Sliding his fingers upwards through the beard, Bilbo caught his thumb on the cleft of Thorin’s chin, stroking softly as his lover spoke, and caught between their chins for a brief moment as their lips again crashed into a passionate kiss. The halfling felt the wobble of his knees, leaning towards the dwarf, hands wrapping about his neck, dragging him further downwards, as the dwarf Lord’s touch pulled him further upwards. The open mouthed kiss ignited a slumbering passion in the hobbit, a passion that remained ever under the surface, only waiting to be kindled by the smoldering touch of one that would see it awoken. As Thorin traced the outline of his chest, his skin puckering and shuddering to the touch, and his lips growing ever demanding, Bilbo skimmed his hands over the dwarf, fingers spread, nails catching slightly on the King’s flesh. The pair looped from the back, tracing down along the width of Thorin’s neck, pressing firmly to the curves of his love’s body, before resting on his clavicle, grasping harder to the skin when the kiss was broken. 

A frustrated groan pulled from Bilbo’s throat, before easing into a gentle sigh as the dwarf pulled his teeth over the swelling lips. Fingers wrapped past Thorin’s ears, hooking and holding him tight as he ventured, kissing, and ravishing his neck. Sucking back his bottom lip, the hobbit pressed down, biting, for his lips craved their mate’s. Thorin continued on however, and Bilbo’s cheeks flushed and his body pitched forward, head leaning to the side to further accommodate the dwarf’s greedy kisses, and exploring tongue. Ever still his lips again grew impatient, and his fingers clenched in Thorin’s hair, tugging gently. 

However, as the King began to trail up; hot, flushing kisses burned, leaving hot trails of cinders along his neck, crawling along his ear, Bilbo shuddered, the edges of his ear pointing and twitching slightly. Truly, his weaknesses had been made known to the King, and the strategist, the warrior in the dwarf sought after the skin, claiming it; claiming him. And Thorin received the response he wished, for Bilbo let out a shaky sigh, a sigh of pleasure that ripped from his throat. Leaning forward, the hobbit pressed even more of his weight on the sturdy dwarf frame, stability resting more in the arms of the King than his own shaky legs. 

Listening to the words, Bilbo’s flesh felt hot and yet he shuddered as if caught in a winter wind. The small hairs of his nape lifted, and he struggled with himself to not pull the dwarf from his ear, and hold him to his lips. For within the whispered words, Thorin struck nerves, and his body began to grow needy, and his lions began to flare with the wind of the King’s words. Too long he had awaited in the silence of night, with naught but his own warmth and skin to chase away the chill that clung to the blankets. Too many night he had tossed about with an aching lust, a need that never seemed to diminish. 

But all of the need and desire he felt in that moment could not diminish the ghostly brush he felt across his soul when the King uttered the last words. For in the words he could hear the truth, and the meaning, though stated so simply, meant a great deal more than mere words of affection. Frustration and desire in that moment was forged with the strength of bliss, of joy and love, and the greatest emotions of life. He wished to hold the dwarf bare against him, to feel him, hear him. 

Slowly the hobbit turned his head to face the dwarf, all emotions surfacing, and his hand raising to meet Thorin’s cheek, snaking within his beard. No words passed, and Bilbo could only stare at the dwarf for a moment, before again taking his lips again within his own. The force and need behind Bilbo’s actions were startling compared to their last night together at Erebor. A ferocity had erupted; a need that had lingered, growing and consuming in the dark and lonely hours he faced. 

Bilbo allowed his feet to be guided back, as his tongue pressed to the dwarf’s parted lips, dancing against his lover’s tounge, and his arms slung tightly around Thorin’s neck, cascading up and unlacing the ribbon to free the messy locks. The dampened hair sprawled out against the wine coloured robes, and the fur dampened slightly. Still, Bilbo was careless to the fact that his supper rested above the fire, or that surely by now all of Hobbition knew of the dwarf’s arrival. 

He needed Thorin. 

How had he ever lived without him?

As he was lead backwards, Thorin pulled back for just a moment, and when he did the air escaped and Bilbo feared for but a moment. However, the breathless plea silenced any doubt and the halfling leaned forward, nuzzling his cheek to the King’s as he whispered, warm breath washing over the dwarf’s ears like a summer fire. 

“Thoin, I wish to have you. I wish to feel you.” 

Moving to take a step back, the wobble of the hobbit’s knee sent him thundering back, but luckily, by swift and strong arms he was hoisted back to his feet, his weight and body then knocking back into the dwarf. Catching his lips as they connected, Thorin was sent back a few steps, connecting with the wall. The moment Bilbo felt himself and the dwarf steadied he pressed the kiss deeper, his hand pressed to his lover’s chest, clutching a handful of the loose tunic, opposite hand twisting in the dwarf’s hair, twirling the braids about his fingers. Slowly, as the kiss deepened, Bilbo’s hands slid from their spots to slid the robe from the dwarf’s shoulders. As the robe slid off, it was tossed safely to the bench to their left. Breaking the kiss for but a moment, the hobbit pulled back, dragging his teeth over the dwarf’s as they separated. 

“I love you,” Never before had it been stated so simply, but never had the halfling felt it as simple as in that moment. Pulling aside a stray piece of hair from the King’s face, a smile graced his lips, a smirk of genuine emotions, weighed only by the lust he felt. 

“Many lonesome nights I wished it not true, but I can no longer find the will to fight it. I intend to spend this night with you-- to have you, and feel you as I once have.”


	11. Chapter 11

Ah, those words were enough to spread a heat unlike any other through Thorin's soul and body. Bilbo expressing his desire to have him, to feel him much like they had the night before the Battle was nearly too much for him to comprehend. Long had he daydreamed of this moment, long had he fantasized about being able to run his hands across his hobbit's body. Laying in a room and a bed fit for a king was not quite as luxurious when doing it alone. The stone walls were cold, even to the seemingly immune dwarf. But now he was warm, and soon he would feel thrice as complete. 

Immediately as Thorin felt that wobble of Bilbo's knee, his instincts and reflexes moved to catch him. He would not let his hobbit fall so easily. Strong arms wrapped around the smaller male, pulling him close against his own body, the force of it all sending Thorin just a few steps back, bare feet moving across the wooden floor beneath them. His back was pressed to the wall sooner than he could comprehend; steadying his weight along with the halfling's, large hands clinging tight to his lover's waist to ensure that he was safe.

Funny, it was, how the moment had turned so quickly into this passion that the couple had long been holding back that it would cause something so simple as a trip over their own feet. 

But Thorin was not going to complain about this rather compromising position. Especially not as the kiss that they exchanged became deeper, Thorin's tongue sliding into the younger male's mouth to taste him like he once had. It was familiar, comforting, something that he reveled in and it caused a soft moan to fall into his mouth. Open-mouthed and sloppy, he reached up to slide his hand into the hair of his love, thick fingers tugging at the root of sandy-brown locks and pulling him inward. It was as if they had never been apart, and his lover had certainly grown more courageous over the past five years. It was no longer just Thorin taking the lead, but Bilbo taking initiative as well.

His hands were pulled from their resting places, instead he assisted Bilbo and removing the fur-lined robe in which he wore. Their lips parted, Thorin's eyes half-lidded as those teeth dragged across the lower petal, electing a hitch of the dwarf's breath in his throat. He listened to the sweet words that hit the air, each sounding like a tune from a folk song that would soothe the dwarf's worries. And the smile that he saw from his hobbit made everything all the more satisfying. Thorin's eyes lit up, mirroring the smile.

"You need not try to explain to me your feelings, because I know all too well... I have lived in regret and sorrow, and all of that has faded since seeing your face," he spoke soft, his hands slyly moving to work across Bilbo's shoulders, pushing down the suspenders in which he wore upon them, letting them fall off to the side. He reached for the hem of the hobbit's tunic, wrapping his fingers about the fabric to slowly start pushing it up his stomach, exposing more and more skin the further he worked. "I love you, and even then I do not think that is enough to tell you how my heart beats for you."  
And so he would show him. No longer could he sit idle. 

Once he had finished his speech, Thorin finished removing the hobbit's tunic by pulling it up and over his head, leaving him bare-chested. A tongue ran over his own lips, dampening them as he quickly switched their positions, the dwarf grasping Bilbo's hips to pin him against the wall. A strong knee rested in between the hobbit's legs, pressing forward as his lips met with the skin of his jaw. Kissing across it, the King closed his eyes and made his way down his lover's neck, beginning to suckle gently at the tender flesh. Nibbling, Thorin tugged between his incisors, digits working their way up Bilbo's spine. He would leave visible marks on the smaller male's pale skin, yet he thought nothing of it, for this was his hobbit, after all. He could mark him as he pleased. 

Down to Bilbo's collar bone did he work, tongue sliding across the clavicle before he pulled away with a gentle smirk. It seemed as soon as Thorin was fully clothed, he was already undressing again, as the tunic was worked up and over his head and tossed alongside the robe that had been removed from his shoulders. Tanned, tattooed skin was once again revealed, this time long locks of hair that splayed out messily across his torso, across his chest in long waterfalls and toward his hips. Finally, the mane was displayed at its full potential, thick silver strands falling across his forehead.

Now that he was feeling quite revealed in front of Bilbo, and he was sure that the hobbit felt the same, Thorin gave him a reassuring smile and a sweet murmur of, “I love you, I do.” 

He reached forward, hands massaging the hips of his lover, one sliding round to his backside to pull him closer to his body, giving him a firm, playful squeeze. He hummed in satisfaction against his lover’s skin, placing kisses across his ear once more, tongue trailing up the length.   
“Men lananubukhs menu,” he whispered, suddenly finding himself wondering if Bilbo remembered the translation that he had provided those years ago. Reverting back to and speaking Khuzdul to a being of a different race was quite the passionate act, one that Thorin found great pleasure in. It felt as if he was sharing his culture with the one whom he intended to love unlike any other. 

 

He rolled forward, knee pressing in harder between Bilbo’s legs until he slowly pulled it away, relieving the pressure if only for a moment. Lips found their mate’s, falling into yet another passionate kiss in a means to distract the hand that was beginning to wander south from Bilbo’s hips. Taking a firm grip on the length that was hidden beneath layers of fabric, Thorin gave a gentle squeeze, stroking his thumb over the tip as he suckled at the hobbit’s lower lip. 

“I need you.”

Thorin’s words came out in a soft pant, his breath catching, forehead resting against Bilbo’s to breathe hot against his skin, his hand stroking up his partner’s shaft, opposite hand sliding beneath the edge of Bilbo’s trousers to allow his fingernails to grace bare skin. Further down he reached, eyes lidded with lust as he searched the hobbit’s expression for a reaction, those digits that were curiously moving forth stroking between the plump cheeks of his arse. Only ragged breathing was heard between the two, Thorin pausing before he continued further yet to tease his love. 

“Let me have you.”


	12. Chapter 12

All around the hobbit, the world dissolved itself into a lingering memory. Around him everything of his home disappeared, for he was once more in Erebor, caught in the chill of the mountain air that clashed with the growing warmth of his body. The homely scents of baking diminished into the weak scent of the clementine he fumbled with nervously, melding into the powerful scent of lavender which spread through the room, trailing hints of the couple’s musk. Even the powerful thunder which bellowed and roared over The Hill eased into the excited galloping of his heart. In five years nothing had changed of their feelings, something with eased the hobbit, and allowed his hands to move into the dwarf’s beard. Slowly, he allowed his fingers to pass over the rough cheeks as the King spoke words of love, words that the hobbit tasted as truth. Bilbo smiled, easing into the touch of the dwarf, his hands loosened, curling back down the braided beard and resting on the swell of Thorin’s broad chest. 

Still hot lines washed over Bilbo’s shoulders, where the suspenders had rested, and now dragonfire burned in faint brushes of the dwarf’s hands as the tunic was lifted-- skin barely touching skin. The gentle touches always followed ones of need, enhancing them as fingers curled into skin, pulling and sinking in with feverish desire. 

As Bilbo’s quickly cooled skin was whipped around, and the heat of the dwarf pressed upon him, he felt his breathing hitch with untold excitement. His loins had already begun to burn, and now an ache was setting in, cementing his need for the dwarf; his touch.

As lips and teeth edged along the halfling’s skin, he reached out, clasping hold to the back of Thorin’s head, fingers twining in the long, loosed strands of hair and tugging it as the teeth sunk in slightly. Bilbo could feel the heat of the dwarf’s lips on his swelling flesh-- surely he would bear marks of this night, unlike their first coupling. A shudder pulled over his back with the thought-- the undeniable proof he belonged to someone. The shudder was caught by a hand, tracing along his spine. Bilbo leaned his head back, resting it against the wood panelling of the walls, and a shaky moan pulled from his lips as his skin recieved another pull from the dwarf. Shaking reaching out, the hobbit caught the rim of the dwarf’s trousers, tugging him forward so their bodies meshed. Slowly his hands kneaded their way beneath the thin tunic, tracing over lines on the dwarf’s body, tunic raising with his trailing hands. As the dwarf’s lips trailed to his collarbone, his hands all but stopped and with a nip from the dwarf his fingers curled inwards over the dwarf’s abdomen. “T-thorin… Mmmm.”

A surged pulled at the hobbit’s body as his hands raced now, lifting the tunic off of the dwarf, cool hands sliding over the tattoos and warm skin, stealing the warmth in breathless whispers, fingers tracing over the dwarf’s nipples before tugging gently. Lacing back downwards over the mess of hair and muscle, Bilbo’s hands rested on the hem of Thorin’s trousers, pulling him closer as he spoke. 

He was in the midst of responding when the hands on his hips slid back, grasping his arse in a loving manner. With slight shock, Bilbo nearly leapt forward, his hips colliding with the dwarf’s and a breathy escape of air tugging from his lips, a chuckle at best, though lingering with heavy desire. A blush rolled over the height of his cheek and his head leant forward to rest on the swell of the dwarf’s neck, hands brushing aside hair as he went along. His lips laid soft kisses while his hands pulled at the dwarf’s trousers in a slightly teasing manner. Thorin was back at his ear, and the wobbling sway returned to his knees, and his lips pulled from the skin with shuddering breath. The words that followed only worsened his condition. 

He remembered the words, and the nerves that lingered his voice as he asked for a translation. He remembered ever stolen kiss, glance, and grasp of that night-- and the words, all the Khuzdul he had heard on his long winding adventure fell silent to the Khuzdul of passion Thorin shared with him. “And I you… Always… Always. “ He mumbled. 

Backing away to again look at the male, he found himself embraced into yet another passionate kiss. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Bilbo felt his heart swell as the tongue laced over his own lips. He pressed back from the wall, giving resistance of some sorts to the overwhelming passion of the dwarf, for truly, there was no fear in the hobbit, no hesitance for him to wade in the calm tides of sensitivity-- he wished to inspire a passion in Thorin unlike any other; to fan the kindling into a roaring flame. 

Bilbo pulled the dwarf’s bottom lip further into the kiss, suckling on it as the hands travelled south on his body, however as the dwarf cusped his length, he felt his knees wobble even more. His hands pulled tighter to the dwarf, and his teeth nipped at the bottom lip, before his head rolled back in a lull of pleasure. A moan, full in voice, no longer a whisper of pleasure, sounded from his chest, and his hips rolled forward into the dwarf’s awaiting hand. The lips clashed against his, this time Thorin finding his lips, and victimizing them with soft suckles of pleasure. 

Thunder rolled about them, and the jump of fright in the halfling made his entire body hinge closer to the dwarf. Slowly though, the warmth of Thorin’s hand crept into his trousers, grasping his growing length whilst wandering fingers trailed to his backside. Bilbo’s mouth gaped slightly as the fingernails cast teasing touches to his length. His hips wished to buck, but Bilbo willed himself still. The dwarf was playing a game-- for he wished to bring the hobbit to the cusps of pleasure, to watch him squirm and mew in pleasure and delight. 

But the passion roaring through the veins of the hobbit could not be so easily tamed as the last occasion he was touched. He may not win in this game, but he would surely put up a fight. 

Curling his fingers through the thicket of the dwarf’s lower hair, tugging with gently force as they travelled downwards, Bilbo bit his lip, holding back the moan that wished to rip from his throat. He shut his eyes, clamped down, and continued on. His opposite hand mirrored Thorin’s, though it travelled further still, prodding the entrance, and feeling as the tight muscles clenched back, almost urging him forward. 

Finally though, Thorin’s hand won out, and earned a pent up cry of pleasure from the halfling. His hand pulled harder at the hair above his groan, and his head pitched forward to the curve of the King’s neck. “Ngghh! T-Thorin-- I…” He puffed, air escaping in pants from his mouth, hot breath cascading over the dwarf Lord’s shoulder. 

“You may have me…. For- For I have always been yours.”


	13. Chapter 13

The sound of thunder and rain from the outside world set the mood with an even more sensual aura as the moans and gasps of his hobbit clashed in unison with the melody of nature's forces. Oh, how beautiful it was to hear Bilbo's mewls of approval, urging the dwarf further on and showing that yes, the feeling was certainly mutual and he did not wish to stop. Long had he dreamed of this moment, being reunited with the former burglar, displaying the love that he held over the past five years, but little had he expected to have the halfling pressed against the wall, wedged in between the pressure of his own body. 

Such passion was hard to withstand and wait for, he supposed.

Further did his fingers go, wandering up the crevice of Bilbo's backside, then back down to tease. But he pressed inwards, calloused digits finding the tight entrance hidden between. He began to massage in slow circular motions, his opposite hand keeping the same pace stroking the shaft of the hobbit's hardened length. Lips pressed against Bilbo's ear, Thorin breathed hot against the shell, the weight of his chest pressing deep into the smaller frame. He remained controlled and steady, careful not to go too far or too fast as he knew that he could easily push Bilbo over the edge of pleasure and it would be over before either of them were ready for it to be. 

Yes, they still had many days to experience and explore one another through Thorin's visit, but there were so many things that he could not speak with words that he needed Bilbo to feel and see through his actions. It was the only way that he could express how he had longed and loved despite being on opposite sides of the realm. 

It seemed that Bilbo had grown even more brave in their time apart, as his own actions were being mirrored. A warm hand slid down the back of the trousers that he had so graciously been fit into minutes before, and it was apparent that they were now taking part in a mutual game of teasing. Thorin would mention something later about how brave Bilbo had become, but for now he nuzzled his face against the hobbit's neck, lips wandering across his skin, teeth nibbling at the flesh as moans of his own now began to fall. Never had he been touched there by his halfing, and it was quite a bit more arousing than he could have ever dreamed.

Buried against one another, Thorin matched the gasps that his lover set, "Ah-- Haa... Bilbo, you tease me--" 

His muscles tensed because of the foreign contact, but relaxed as the teasing continued, and he too carried on. Putting pressure against his lover's entrance, Thorin dared not to try to press inside, but did try to give him a taste of what he was in for after so long of being apart. Thorin's hand that had been working the shaft of Bilbo's length pulled away slowly and instead wrapped itself around the hobbit's waist, clinging to him desperately, short fingernails sinking into pale flesh. 

Long locks of hair were tugged at even harder this time, Bilbo falling forward to bury himself in Thorin's neck, just as the King had done moments before. Their movements came to a slow halt due to Bilbo's words, and it occurred to him that a change of scenery was needed. Luckily for the two of them, they had managed to back themselves up far enough to be quite close to the hobbit's bedroom. Reluctantly, Thorin pulled his lips away from Bilbo's neck, placing a few kisses upon his lips before whispering, "Come with me."

Pulling his hand slowly from the hobbit's backside, Thorin hoisted his lover up into his arms, legs draped over his left forearm, right supporting his back, carrying him much like one would see a bride being carried by her groom. He knew very well how weak at the knees Bilbo had become, and that was exactly how they had ended up against the wall in the first place. He carried the hobbit with ease through the doorway of the bedchambers, and then lay him down on the plush blankets and sheets. 

Thorin began to work at the pants that he had been wearing, pushing them down his broad hips to release his hardened length and cause it to hit the surprisingly warm air that surrounded them. It was a stark contrast to the Halls of Erebor, and it was not one that he would complain about. Upon the removal of the trousers, more inked designs were revealed, these proving to be new additions since their last meeting. A dwarf would often have their skin tattooed during and after important points in their life, and seeing as he had went through quite the rollercoaster with his quest, the battle, finding love, and overcoming a dark sickness, he had indulged in new artwork.

A thick band of runes and patterns that wrapped around his upper left thigh, opposite leg with an intricate abstract that ran up the entire side of the right. Tattooed feet and ankles, lines extending up toward muscular calves. 

If this was any other day, Thorin would have stood and teased Bilbo in such a way that would have made him beg to be touched and to continue, but the heat still burned unlike any other within him, and that much was obvious with the throbbing length in between his legs. 

Crawling up onto the bed with Bilbo, he gripped the hobbit's trousers, assisting in the removal of the remaining of his clothing. The dwarf hovered beside him, sitting on his knees with a gentle smirk across his features as he gripped Bilbo's cock yet again, giving an affectionate, quick squeeze and a kiss to his lips. But he would not let the mood die down so easily. He intended on ravishing the halfling and making him cry his name, so he did not hesitate to move once again.

Gripping Bilbo's hips, Thorin guided him to lay on his stomach, the side of his face resting against one of the pillows at the top of the bed. He examined the expanse of his lover's back, digits moving down his spine and then to his arse. Luckily, there was a small jar of oil near the bed (which was what Thorin had been hoping for upon relocation) that was meant for heating and causing the room to fill with a certain relaxing aroma. He reached for it, popping it open and coating his fingers in it much like he had done in their previous meeting, then adjusted himself to once again be pressed against Bilbo's body. 

His knees rested on either side of Bilbo's thighs, hips perfectly aligned with his backside, chest and stomach pressing down against his love's body, tongue wandering up the expanse of the hobbit's ear once more to whisper, "Relax, azyungal. Simply lay beneath me and let me please you."

Supporting himself with one arm resting on the bed (so that he was not completely pressed against the smaller male and would crush him), the opposite arm reached between their bodies and fingers pushed forth, finding those tight muscles yet again. He coated them with the oil that he had generously applied, massaging as he had before. "Let me in, my love," he murmured, the tip of one thick finger applying pressure now so as to begin sliding inside him. He was controlled, but not as slow as he had been during their first intimate moment with one another. The anticipation was weighing heavy upon his shoulders, and the sweet tightness that clenched around his digit already made him even more eager to move forth. 

"I love you," he reminded the younger, his entire first finger now pressed fully inside him up to his knuckle. He slowly slid it out, just before pressing in deeper. "I cannot wait to feel you."


	14. Chapter 14

The pitch forward of the dwarf, moan crawling against the curve of his shoulder sent a chill unlike any other through the smaller creature’s body. There was an intimacy in the movement, having his lover pressed to him, moans pulling unwillingly from lips that would have much rather stayed their post. There was something beautifully unsettling about seeing Thorin moan, and how his back arched, turning into his hands like warmed clay. Having his body press closer with need, the King’s warmth melding with his  
own like different coloured waxes. Feeling the hot serpent-like breath curl about him, causing his body to press back, his lips hooking on a metal ornament dangling from the dwarf’s ear, tugging before lips drifted overtop the skin in a show of softness. 

As the touch faded into a drifting line, with only kisses to  
ease the lust of his body, Bilbo trailed his fingers from the dwarf’s bottom. Slowly he pulled them along, edging them along the contour of his spine, curling past the hair to trace the nape of his neck, and tickling the small hairs with his fingers.

The beckoning voice lingered, and yet Thorin did not pull away-- which surely was madness because he was instructed to follow. The  
lingering haze of his passion diluted any thought though, and as his legs pressed forward, he found himself swept up above the floor, and in that moment, his heart seemed higher than the tops of the great Greenwood. Thankfully, this time in between the affection of the dwarf gave Bilbo a much needed chance to dote on the King. Slowly his lips parted, trailing gentle, loving kisses along the right side of Thorin’s neck. They lingered upwards, and so the hobbit angled his head further back. He intended to leave a burning trail up his neck, past the backside of his ear. “You were my only, you alone will ever be all I desire. Joy could not find me in your absence, for I knew not how to feel without a heart. Lust could not be quenched without your touch, your body.”

Thumb holding the bottom cleft of his chin, pulling it towards his lips so the pair might linger once more, arm draped, drawing small patterns amidst the endless canvas of runes that claimed the flesh. Though the moment did not last long enough, as he was laid down against an enveloping cloud of comfort. His lips lost their warmth, and his member began to ache within the confines of the fabric; clothes becoming nothing but a nuisance. As the  
sheets fluttered down about him, he watched muscles work beneath the new tattoos. Tales etched into flesh, cementing memory. He wished to hear about them, about the mountain, and his friends, but it seems passion had gotten the better of them both. 

Much to the thanks of the hobbit, the dwarf approached, hands curling about the hem of his garment, tugging his member free of  
the claustrophobic prison into the warm air. Bilbo’s eyes lingered on the dwarf’s, in some show of solidarity, a defiance of sorts in attempts to prove he would not be so easily overcome by lust this time around-- how wrong he was. Truthfully, the more skilled dwarf knew where to touch, curl and tug just to make the halfling gasp out, pulling breath from the lips that settled on his. With the sudden intake of air, Bilbo deepened the kiss, pulling the King’s lips into his own, back arching upwards and hands slithering downwards. 

All actions halted in but a moment, as Thorin gently pulled his lips back, and Bilbo felt himself urged to turn over. Placed on his belly, cheek nestled in the fluffed pillow, erection caught between the pillows and the weight of his own body, the halfling felt a surge of excitement, his heart catching beat like a fiddler. As Thorin moved closer, edging his body atop the splayed creature, Bilbo felt himself feeling less exposed, and more caught by the sensuality of the dwarf. He could feel the muscles on either side of his calves flex as he leaned forward, the dwarf’s cock tracing almost innocently over his body as his lover prepared his fingers. The rise and fall of the King’s chest to his back calmed whatever nerves he felt, and his hands  
caught one another beneath his breast, twining so his weight no longer pressed to his chest, but his arms and elbows. Nestling his head to the pillow, the overwhelming scent of oranges crept from the container, as the scent had become a particular favourite of the hobbit since their last encounter. 

The dwarf’s tongue left a shiver in Bilbo as he nodded softly, easing ever more  
into the pillow and bed. The soft words did much to calm the smaller creature, as his taut muscles eased slowly, and deep breaths poured from his lungs. Slowly as the finger pressed forward he felt himself tense, only to ease. Despite the slight discomfort of knuckle passing, the touch felt needed, and lust clasped at his loins. Hips wiggling, providing any friction to the erection that laid beneath and silent moan left as a sigh and a gasp. The halfling’s hand pulled from beneath him, toying back to his side to catch Thorin’s supporting hand. 

This time the dwarf was able to move easier, and his body took the finger with slight ease. As the dwarf pressed forward, deeper this time he felt his member twitch beneath him, anticipation nearly driving him mad. His loins ached, and his heart leapt and sunk with every thrust. Biting down on his lip, the discomfort settling, Bilbo anxiously awaited his lover. Arching his rear upward when the finger pressed inward again, the hobbit made a show of rubbing his rear against the dwarf’s cock, heart hammering down into the sheets. 

“My body still remembers your touch-- the feel of your lovemaking.” Groaning and squeezing the King’s hand he whispered on. “And after all this time, it still craves the feel of your body.”

**Author's Note:**

> {A roleplay made fanfiction, written by Underthemistymountain (Thorin's perspective) and Politethief (Bilbo's perspective) of Tumblr. Leave comments, for they will be shared amongst us!}  
> {Mixes to listen to while reading:  
> http://8tracks.com/politethief/to-find-a-home  
> http://8tracks.com/underthemistymountain/alone-on-the-water}


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